


the insurmountable breadth

by hellbeast



Series: we are no heroes [3]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Barely Canon Compliant, Gen, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:27:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26528965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellbeast/pseuds/hellbeast
Summary: After all…She told the Silver Demon of ShinRa that she was going to kick his ass, and Yuffienevergoes back on her word.
Relationships: Yuffie & Wutai, Yuffie Kisaragi & Original Wutaian Characters, Yuffie Kisaragi & Sephiroth, Yuffie Kisaragi & Wutai
Series: we are no heroes [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/201509
Comments: 30
Kudos: 135





	the insurmountable breadth

**Author's Note:**

> okay, so technically it's been 4 years or whatever, but i just wanna say [y'all were warned, i told u i was bad at time and i MEANT it](https://manymouths.tumblr.com/post/187858717184)

When Yuffie is eight, she meets a demon.

He is kind, far kinder than she had been led to believe. Even so, he is a demon. He tells her this himself, that he is a monster. A weapon.

But he is no mindless tool. That demon is a thinking weapon, and because of his thoughts—his _freedom_ —she steals into the night, Leviathan clutched close to her chest even as she knows, without a doubt, that the demon is staining his Sacred Blade with her Honored Father’s blood.

The price of the demon’s freedom is the Holy Throne of Wutai and the people pay the toll without knowing.

But Wutai doesn’t need a throne to remain strong. Not when it has a princess. And not when that princess holds the sea between her palms.

It sounds _really_ cool like that, right?

The kinda story you'd find in the history books, beneath an intricate woodcarving or illustration of a stage play. Tengri insists that she recite it until she knows it by heart, because it’s _her_ story, and if she didn't know it, then who would?

It’s boring—so, so boring and she could be training instead!—but Tengri has had the super annoying habit of being right _all the time_ , lately. Better safe than sorry.

It might be a little em-bell-isht (which Tengri says is when you make something sound More Important than it actually is) but it's also true. Yuffie met the Demon of ShinRa and lived to tell the tale. He wasn't even that scary!

Okay, no, he was super scary, but he wasn't _**evil**_ like they all thought.

He'd _looked_ like a demon, with long silver hair and bright green eyes and skin so pale that even the moonlight seemed dark in comparison. And he had a magic sword that he could pull from nothing! If he wasn’t ShinRa's he would’ve made the _best_ minion; he could probably find _all_ the treasure.

Yuffie knows that her father is dead and she knows who killed him. Every day, she feels that knowledge like pressure on the back of her neck, waiting to squeeze. This, everything she’s doing, isn't revenge for that. She might only be ten, but she's not naïve enough to think she can challenge ShinRa's Demon for her family's honor. Everything she does is for _Wutai_.

The entire Royal Court and the remnants of the Imperial Forces fled from the castle that night. Tengri says that they have a chance to _do_ something, before ShinRa comes back to finish the job. Tengri says they have this chance to keep Wutai free.

Yuffie doesn’t know all that much about freedom, all things considered. She’s only a kid; she doesn’t know a lot of things, and she’d been raised with the expectation that she wouldn’t have to learn until she was at least thirteen. But ShinRa stormed Wutai’s shores and even resisting, Wutai still bled. Tengri tells her that freedom is like the moments she was able to slip away from her guards to go treasure hunting—the moments where she didn’t have to be Kisaragi Yuffie, crown princess and heir to the Royal Throne of Wutai; the moments where she could be _just_ Yuffie.

Tengri also says that now it’s up to Yuffie to get stronger. To make not only herself stronger, but Wutai as well.

Even when she had been eight—eight and scared, eight and trying not to trip over her own feet as she bolted down the empty palace hallway, small fingers gripping materia like a lifeline—she’d known that she had to get better.

After all…

She told the Silver Demon of ShinRa that she was going to kick his ass, and Yuffie _never_ goes back on her word.

* * *

That Night—the most important night of her life, it felt like—she had stumbled into a clearing, lungs tight and trembling, a handful of materia held to her chest as though she could hide them within herself.

“Princess!”

The Royal Guard—her instructors—was there, sudden as always, ringed around her. Only it wasn’t a ring—only…

“Where’s Kyo?” She’d asked, her voice small, so soft that she almost didn’t recognize it as her own. “And Xiang?”

Jiang—the shorter of the three present, with streaks of silver in his dark hair, and perpetually sad eyes—knelt. Not to comfort her, but in supplication. He bared the back of his neck to her, prostrated on the ground. Eun-Ji followed only moments after.

“Forgive us, Princess. We failed to defeat the ShinRa dogs.”

The third guard—who Yuffie didn’t know, had never seen in the Palace—did not kneel. But they bowed their head, and their hands flowed into the shape of prayer words. A sending for the dead.

Yuffie wanted to go find the rest of the Royal Court—were they the only ones left? She had to do _something_ —but Jiang wanted to take her back to the Palace.

“You can’t!” Yuffie had blurted out, materia clinking together in her arms.

The noise seemed to breach the haze of grief. He and Eun-Ji looked at the small orbs in her arms and both frowned.

“Did you raid His Majesty’s rooms again?” Eun-Ji’s voice was soft but firm.

“You’re not listening! You can’t go back! The Silver Demon is—”

“The Silver Demon?”

Jiang went from kneeling at her height to standing, eyes unerringly pinned in the direction of the Palace. His face was hard, like carved jade, and Yuffie knew he was lost. Eun-Ji was no better, hunched forward like a jungle cat prepared to pounce. She’d seen that look on all their faces before—Kyo’s and Xiang’s and Eun-Ji’s and Jiang’s—enough to know that they would be like hounds on a trail of blood. But they didn’t _understand_. 

Ever since the war started, she’d heard a lot about the Silver Demon. That he was dangerous, obviously. But that he was cold, and merciless, like a machine. But he wasn’t, and that made him _scarier_. He’d let her lie to his face, and evacuate the entire Palace, because he hadn’t wanted to kill them all. He hadn’t wanted to, but he _would’ve_ , if he’d had no other choice. He was like Eun-Ji, who was gentle silk hiding steel, who could kill as easy as she could breathe, but who never _wanted to_.

She _hated_ him, she _**hated**_ him, she—

“Princess.”

She’d looked up, lip trembling and eyes watering. And then she’d looked _up_.

Both Jiang and Eun-Ji gone—stupid, _stupid_ , she was never gonna see either of them again—but the other guard, the one whose name she didn’t know, was closer, head tilted down to regard her.

She’d never seen a Dragoon this close before. The armor was all smooth, sweeping curves and well cared for, the metal a deep purple with gold detailing. The helmet was shaped more like a horse than a dragon, with wings instead of fins, the sort of custom design only allowed to the higher ranks. Hands reached up and pulled the helmet off.

Yuffie’s eyes had widened, “You’re—!”

The Dragoon was an _islander_. Or maybe from the steppes, out west. Their eyes were gray: that was the only part of their face that could be seen – their eyes and the brown skin around them. 

They’d given a bow, helmet tucked under their arm.

“This one is called Tengri, and has come to serve.”

Yuffie is eight and scared, eight and carrying the weight of her country on her back because she _knows_ her father is dead.

She takes Tengri’s hand, when offered, and cries.

* * *

With her Father dead, ShinRa retreated, assured of their victory. A small contingent of SOLDIERs remained at an outpost near the Royal Palace, but even they left. The palace remained abandoned.

Yuffie didn’t _want_ to lead, but she’s the Princess. It was her _duty_.

It was hard. The warriors wanted to go after the Silver Demon, and die honorably on that Sacred Blade, in hopes of avenging their slain Emperor’s honor. The mages wanted to hit ShinRa from afar, to tear their empire down around their ears. The old sages gave her no advice, only hummed and watched her and judged.

Yuffie _hated_ waiting. She was training to be a ninja and waiting meant being idle. Ninja weren’t idle, not unless they were dead. But, well, she wasn’t only looking after herself anymore. It wasn’t just the warriors or the mages or the old wise guys she had to think about, but retainers and servants, and their families, too. A whole _country’s_ worth.

Tengri took her from the Palace grounds to a temple in the west, where those who still wished to fight against ShinRa were taking refuge. They came to her slowly, in bits and pieces – sometimes a single person, a small family, sometimes an entire community – and they watched. They didn’t swear their loyalty to her, because she didn’t have the throne. But they watched her, like the old sages watched her, and they listened when she talked. They whispered about her, in awe and reverence, because she had met ShinRa’s Silver Demon, and she had lived and she was cunning and she had brought them the sea.

“What should I do?” She’d asked Tengri, time and time again, because she was only eight and a half, and hadn’t expected to rule over her people for another handful of years.

“Trust in no one but yourself,” Tengri had told her severely, their hands heavy and unrelenting on her shoulders. “And lead Wutai to greatness.”

An idle ninja might’ve been a dead ninja, but a good ninja was _sneaky_.

Wutai became the forests, the jungles, the coasts, and Midgar became the Royal Palace. She gathered her people to her, spread them thin and spread them _smart_. Leave the cities and the forts for the countryside, for the trees and the mountains. ShinRa wanted to take Wutai, but Wutai was her people, and you couldn’t take what you couldn’t hold. You couldn’t take what you couldn’t _find_. She called her warriors and her mages to her and sent them out in trickles, and droves and waves, all across Wutai and then, later, all across the Western Continent.

She ruled, haltingly at first. But Tengri stood behind her, and there was not one word spoken against her. Her people crossed oceans and slid into new lives, forged new communities, widened Wutai until she was not one small land, but small pieces of _every_ land.

Yuffie left last. She looked out to what remained of Wutai, under ShinRa control and little more than another tourist spot. One day, she’d return and she and her people would make Wutai whole again.

One day.

But first, she had a demon to slay.

* * *

Midgar is filthy.

The city proper is landlocked and dusty and the stench of mako sits heavy in the air, so cloying in her throat that it constantly gives her a headache.

Furthermore, its people are destitute; they wear thin, unadorned clothing and scowl as they walk down the streets, shoulders set forward like starved, kicked dogs, ready to leap forward and snap their teeth at the slightest provocation.

Yuffie wonders if it wasn't only greed that drove ShinRa to Wutai's shores, but envy as well. With every rusted heap of twisted metal that they pass, Yuffie can only think of Wutai's towering trees and the constant, gentle breeze that carries the smell of ocean salt and moving water.

Midgar is _ugly_. ShinRa remains her enemy, her target, but Midgar itself is so distasteful that she can't help but feel a distant, uncomfortable pity for its denizens.

Getting into Midgar is also filthy, but laughably easy as well. There’s enough of a Wutaian immigrant community for Yuffie and her retinue to slip in with none the wiser.

The city—the slums, where anyone who isn’t ShinRa or some kind of business mogul lives—is prickly and dirt-smudged and right up on the edge of badland lawlessness.

Shortly after finding a building on the edge of derelict, Yuffie has a base. It’s more of a traveling throne room without a throne. She brings Wutai with her, pillows and silk and small treats and tea. The honorable grandmothers come for tea and bring her gossip. The children come for the candy and tell her what’s happening in the streets. Yuffie lives a foreign life, in an alien city—the city that brought her country’s destruction—and plots.

What it comes down to, is one good strike.

Yuffie can’t fight ShinRa head on and expect to do anything other than die. She needs to hit fast and hard, to utterly _devastate_ them so that there’s no chance of reprisal.

Which means Yuffie and her people won’t be fighting at all.

Looking at hastily drawn maps, Yuffie has tea with Tengri.

(At this point, the tea is a thoughtless part of interacting with her people, but she still can’t stand the taste.)

“How will we topple them if we do not fight?” Tengri asks. It’s a musing question, where it would’ve been sharp and accusatory coming from any of the other remaining warriors. Tengri keeps to themself, but is always willing to lend an ear.

“We will fight,” Yuffie assures, knowing that the moment Tengri leaves, things will be set into motion. “We just aren’t going to fight their SOLDIERs.”

She’d thought about it almost like a game, and the path seemed so clear. Midgar is but one place, but it is the heart and soul of ShinRa. There are stations spread across Western Continent but Midgar is the name synonymous with SOLDIER.

And she’s going to bring both to their knees.

There are seven plates and seven reactors in Midgar, each plate and reactor in its own sector. There is a very light guard rotation around each reactor, born of complacency and the fact that even in the slums, people need mako to live their lives. Surely no one would be so stupid as to shoot themselves—and every other soul in the city—in the foot by messing with mako production.

“We will focus below the plates, where we have more cover and greater numbers. There will need to be a strike team in each sector to destroy the reactors simultaneously. It’s up to each group how they’ll get the job done, but it must be an immediate destruction.”

Even if that attack is delayed or intercepted, there will be enough damage to stall ShinRa for years. If the company decides to prioritize itself over its city, then all Yuffie has to do is sit back and watch the people tear everything down themselves.

And the plates themselves? _ShinRa_ itself?

Yuffie lifts the materia that hangs around her neck, ever on her person.

They will know Wutai’s wrath.

* * *

Yuffie’s heart is a drum, in her chest and in her ears, overwhelming everything else.

It’s time. They’re ready.

It’s time.

Or… almost time.

Yuffie holds no doubts about her plans; they _will_ work. She does, however, want to circumvent anything that could go wrong. 

It was one of the honorable grandmothers who brought it up, in that circuitous roundabout way of high court.

The issue—the slightest of hiccups—is that Yuffie has never summoned Leviathan before. While she’s had practice with Ifrit and Alexander, Leviathan is known as a legendary summons for a _reason_. It might be that Yuffie won’t be able to summon the serpent by herself.

That complicates things, because most everyone else is already at their designated sectors, awaiting her signal and ready to bring ShinRa to its knees.

“This one will accompany you, honored Princess.”

It’s bizarre, really, how Yuffie just sometimes loses track of Tengri. They’ve been there, not from the start, but from the beginning of the end and their counsel has been invaluable beyond words.

Of course they’ll accompany her, support her. It’s all they’ve done these past two years, ever-present.

Yuffie stands on the metal roof that houses one of the many trains that runs through the city. Just over the edge of a plate, she can see ShinRa headquarters. Without a word, Tengri hands her an elixir and Yuffie holds the glass vial in hands that do not shake.

The elixir is bitter and then sharp and then irrelevant, as the sheer rush of energy courses through her, so heady it’s as if it will burst right through her skin.

She imagines that it is Wutai, come back to exact its due vengeance, and the taste is sweet.

* * *

Yuffie isn’t laughing, because she hardly has the breath to do anything, but she can see smoke trails rising into the sky and there is still a faint taste of elixir on her tongue, crackling like electricity.

It had worked, of course, as she knew it would. But even knowing couldn’t prepare her for the sight of Leviathan—a myth drawn back into reality—crest the plates, sinuous body unending and the very earth shaking with the might of its war cry.

Yuffie is panting, covered in sweat and dust, and so overcome with emotion—with _joy_ , with _glee_ , and anticipation—that even the clucking disapproval of some of the honored grandmothers can do nothing to smother the feeling.

It’s dangerous to take too many elixirs all at once, even on near unfathomable expenditures like summoning a _legend_ , so Yuffie is catching her breath—

In the distance, an explosion of energy.

Immediately, there are screams, panic and confusion from the honored grandmothers, the old wise sages, the children and parents who had come to witness the return of their sacred, beloved, Wutai.

“Princess!”

“Princess, something is—!”

The earth is shaking, almost rolling, and Yuffie herds her people inside, old and young alike, because this must be ShinRa’s counter-attack and she hadn’t thought they would risk their own city, but of _course_ they would, ShinRa _**scum**_ —

It is all noise and confusion, people shouting in alarm, Yuffie scrambling through crowds of people, scaling buildings, following the sound of collapsing buildings and the pulse of energy—

Back to the train station, in hopes that she will be able to see _something_ , anything that will help her save her people, and even the pitiable people of the slums—

The train station is empty, quiet, eerie. No SOLDIERs, no passengers. The building itself is damaged, but there is no sign of the cause and Yuffie holds her head high even as her pulse skips, because something is _wrong_.

Everything falls apart as she slams open the roof access and—

—there, an array, a _summoning_ array, but still no SOLDIERs, no sign of ShinRa at all, only—

—armor, gilded and gleaming, scuffed and familiar, so familiar—

—and—

—then comes understanding, unwelcome and heavier than she wants to bear—

“ _ **Tengri!**_ ” Yuffie screams, so loud, so harsh that it scrapes her throat raw. It hurts, she tells herself, and that’s why her eyes sting, why her hands are shaking. Princesses don’t cry, especially when they should’ve seen the betrayal coming. _Trust no one_ , Tengri had told her, time and again. But she had thought—she had _trusted_ , believed—

Tengri doesn’t even turn around, just keeps pumping more and more power into the summon, the array almost fluorescent in its intensity.

“I will not beg your forgiveness, Princess.” Tengri says, voice still even and calm as though they haven’t been—like they haven’t been _using_ her, shaping her to fit into whatever plans they have, like she hadn’t _trusted_ them—

“What have you _**done**_?” She demands, and her fingers curl into fists, and her arms shake.

Tengri’s head turns, one gray eye regarding her. The summoning array flashes, filled to capacity. The air begins to waver.

“I have called Wrath down upon Midgar,” they tell her solemnly. That comforting voice, so reliable, so _traitorous_. “And there will be nothing left of ShinRa in this world.”

“This isn’t what we discussed,” Yuffie shakes her head, feeling ill. She remembers, endless nights exchanging words, finding the way that would best serve Wutai in destroying ShinRa, and _only_ ShinRa. She _remembers_. “This is _not_ my plan!”

It’s one thing to go after ShinRa, to destroy the filthy company that tried to break Wutai. But to go after all of Midgar? The dirty and weary people living here under the Plates like penned livestock; they’re victims of ShinRa, too.

Leviathan will wipe Midgar _off the map_ , with as much magic as Tengri had put into the array. This is—

—even the Silver Demon had not done this, a small part of her admits, choked and shamed—

This is—

“This is **not** my plan!” She screams again, and all the anger has left her. All that she has now is her betrayal, her sorrow.

“No, Princess,” Tengri agrees, ever agreeable, ever reasonable, even as the array flashes one final time before the very earth starts to tremble. Even as they fall to their knees, weak from elixir overdose. “It is mine.”

* * *

Yuffie catches sight of _him_ —the Silver Demon—and something writhes in her chest.

She had expected to feel a lot of things, seeing the Demon again. Anger and fear.

But she sees him and her breath catches, because he looks like Tengri.

Not _physically_. The Demon is sickly pale white where Tengri is brown, thin and lithe where Tengri is broad with muscle.

No, it's the look on their faces; their hollow eyes framed by bruise-smudged skin, the weary set to their shoulders. Soldiers striding towards their deaths, knowingly and finally glad to be _stopping_.

She watches him draw his hand through the air, and his Sacred Blade shimmers into view like a mirage.

_Leviathan_ , she catches the shape of his mouth, watches his eyes widen in surprise. Her own eyes are narrowed, and she is _not_ crying. How does the Silver Demon of ShinRa know of Leviathan, when the summons has been considered lost for decades?

Leviathan shrieks, so sharp and high that Yuffie screams too, hands clapped to her ears. The ground shakes itself apart and the buildings around her groan, tilting and swaying.

She opens her eyes—when had she closed them?—just in time to see the Silver Demon throw himself into the sky.

* * *

Yuffie is responsible for this—not culpable, but the actions of her people are the actions of the throne, and Tengri would’ve never had the opportunity to unleash their vengeance upon Midgar if Yuffie hadn’t decided to attack ShinRa on its own turf.

That Tengri had their own vengeance, that they had seen her plans and found them lacking or maybe that they had never agreed with her to begin with—

This is unimportant.

Yuffie is responsible, but she can do nothing. Even if she wanted to, Leviathan is a summons of myth, a power that can rearrange landscapes and change weather patterns. Elite Ninja or not, Leviathan is a legend and Yuffie is still but a child.

A child playing in shoes too large for her, if this is the result—

No.

She knows of no warriors, not even Tengri, who could hope to subdue Leviathan. Not now.

And yet…

_This_ , Yuffie realizes as she watches the Silver Demon match Leviathan blow for blow, _is what it means to be a **legend**._

Even though his strikes don't seem to be doing much damage, the Demon keeps at it, parrying Leviathan's blows and throwing out his own attacks, things that look like they could level entire battalions in one fell swoop.

As amazing a sight as it is, it still rankles. Even now, it’s as though the Silver Demon is unknowingly coddling her. Her mind drags her back to the last time she saw her father, the careful way the Silver Demon had maneuvered her and the Royal Court to escape with their lives.

_Clever child_ , he had called her when she played along with his plan.

_Yes,_ he’d said, when she’d called him a monster.

He’d stood there, between she and her father and he’d intoned, _I am the weapon they have sent to deliver_.

She _**hates**_ him.

Thunder rumbles as lightning streaks across the sky, nearly overpowered by the sound of Leviathan’s shrieking as huge columns of ice burst from the ground.

The Silver Demon parries, Leviathan attacks, the Silver Demon attacks, Leviathan parries. It goes back and forth, unceasing and Yuffie is straining her vision as much as possible to make sure she doesn’t miss—

There, a stumble, and the Silver Demon goes flying out of sight, metal groaning deep beneath Leviathan’s bulk.

More thunder, and then a blur of motion as a figure _leaps_ , momentum carrying them high above Leviathan’s head. The great serpent lets loose another shrill cry, reeling from the blow.

The dance repeats, and again the Silver Demon takes a hit that would—could and should—kill even an enhanced human, stirring up clouds of dust as concrete and brick give way.

Yuffie releases the breath she hadn’t meant to hold.

People are still scrambling for safety, now that the fight seems to have contained itself to a single location. Yuffie should probably do the same, and make her way to safety.

She cannot look away, for the life of her.

A flash of light as some materia activates, flickering into existence around Leviathan.

What could he hope to do with something like that? Leviathan is one the oldest, most powerful summons, on par with Ifrit and Shiva, if it could be so easily defeated by any old status magic—

A _crack_. Reality trembles, it feels like. The panes of translucent magic—a barrier or shield—glow in a staccato pulse. Yuffie can taste metal in the back of her mouth, can hear the slow warp of sound that signifies some kind of space-time warping.

If only she were _closer_ —

It’s impossible to hear anything over the din of battle, to the point that Yuffie can barely hear herself think, but for a moment—

Just a moment, there’s a pause and a voice, building in volume and intensity:

“—ara, Thundaga, _Thundaga_ , _**Thu**_ —”

Everything goes supernova.

* * *

By the time Yuffie manages to blink the spots out of her vision, by the time she works her jaw until her ears pop and her hearing filters back in—

By the time—

Metal is rent and torn, bent into fearsome shards and shapes. The Plate hasn’t fallen, but it undoubtedly sits at an angle now. Yuffie can smell smoke and sweat and ash. Leviathan is groaning and writhing as it flutters away into shards of magic and light.

The wrath of the sea, the wrath of _Wutai_ , defeated. But the people of the Midgar slums yet live. The people of Wutai in the Midgar slums yet live.

When he falls—when the Silver Demon falls, like a star streaking across the night sky—

The Silver Demon _falls_ and her vision blurs—

She’s _not_ crying. Not for the likes of **him**.

She’s _**not**_.

**Author's Note:**

> as always, u can find me in [hell](https://manymouths.tumblr.com/)


End file.
